The Child of a Monster
by BooksAreMyVideogames
Summary: Everyone believed that Harry was James' son, everyone except for Lily, of course. It did seem strange, how premature he had been born, but everyone excepted it. Until Petunia found some papers and sent Harry to live with his father...
1. Chapter 1: Prologue

**Hello, lovely readers! Yes, for any of you who might have read the first chapter of my other story, Jack's Daughter, I am working on that. I just got a little distracted by the pretty sparkly plot bunny that was hopping through my head. Yay! Hope you enjoy. **

_**Disclaimer: I do not, nor will I ever own anything of the Harry Potter Franchise, nor anything of the Marvel Franchise, except maybe a few books/movies/t-shirts/other doodads. This is the only disclaimer I will make for the entire story. Enjoy!**_

_Italics = Portuguese/Spanish/Other Hispanic languages/ and, obviously, angry/empowered/blahblahblah text_

_**Bold Italics = Other languages**_

Normal = English

''=Thoughts

""=Talking

Underlines=text on screens/words on pages

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The Child of a Monster

Chapter 1: A Prologue

Harry could just vaguely remember the day he met his father. It was long off and blurry in his three year old memory. What were remembered, were mostly the sounds and smells of the new place. He had never been somewhere outside of Number 4 or his cupboard, and he was curious, as a little boy, never having been outside his home, was apt to be. Constantly peering around his uncle's girth, Harry managed to get a few glances of where they were going in the strange topless truck, though he received a smack in return every time. Harry also had a few snapshots of memory before this, of a dark rainy night, his uncle gazing around the doorway of the house then rushing him towards the car, shoving him into the back seat. He remembered speeding through the gloom, realizing that they were heading towards a plane, getting on said plane, and falling asleep. He had awakened in his current position, the truck.

Abruptly, the truck, which he knew now to be a jeep, stopped, and the man driving started to talk very quickly with a thick accent while pointing up. When Harry turned to look where he pointed, his jaw dropped. Mountains made of houses and other buildings, people living on top of other people, going on forever. Curiously, the young child peeked up through his hair at his uncle, and opened his wee mouth to ask his questions.

"Where are we?" The answer he got beck was rough and hurtful, though expected.

"Shut up. Don't ask questions." His uncle responded. Then, for good measure, he also kicked the boy. After giving the child his due payment, he turned back to the driver.

"You said he lives up there? At the top?" At the driver's nod, the hefty man sighed, grabbed the boy's arm, and started to march through the streets. Eventually, he pulled the boy, Harry, up to face level and started to growl at him.

"Listen here boy, I'm doing this for you, you'd better be grateful. We are going to go up to the top there, and find someone, and talk to him. Understood?" "Yes, Uncle Vernon." At Harry's nodding response, the man stood up and began to hike through the streets again, dragging the boy behind. After a while, Vernon, whose last name was Dursley, finally exhausted his last bit of energy and stuck his thumb out. Almost immediately, a car pulled to the side and the door popped open.

"Where ya goin', gringo?"

"Up to the top, number 1056, the other white man's place. Do you know where that is?" With the strange man's head movement, Dursley threw Harry into the van, then hopped in himself.

"Get us there in twenty minutes, and you'll get paid," when he spoke those words, the van spend up, quite a bit.

Finally they had reached as far as they could go, and the local pointed at a small building towards the end of the row and held out his hand. Harry watched as he popped a twenty real into his hand, and told the driver to wait. Vernon Dursley then reached into the back and grabbed a bag. Holding it out to Harry, his uncle told him that he was to carry it. After he grabbed the bag, the older man dropped it and began to walk purposefully towards the small hut. Harry scurried after him, not wanting to be left behind. When they reached the house, Vernon banged on the door several times, and got the owner's attention.

"_O que você quer__tão ce(1)-_ Oh, err.. Hello. Can I help you?"

"Yes," The uncle responded, rather gruffly, "I've come to return your son to you." At this statement, both the small boy and the strange man looked up, quite startled.

"Excuse me?" "What?" Both launched their voices out at the same time, and began to babble.

"Shut up, both of you. Yes, I've come to return your son to you, along with all his papers, and he will live with you."

"Thi- this can't happen. This isn't possible!"

"It has, and it is. If you didn't want a child, you should have gone _cavorting _with random women, namely, his mother."

"B- but, you don't understand. This isn't safe. He can not stay with me!" These words were spoken with such vehemence that Harry seemed to rock back with the force of them. His, father, whom he had thought dead, was here, alive! But, he didn't want Harry either. After looking down at the child, the man, Bruce, realized what his words must have sounded like, and kneeled down to look the boy in the face.

"Hey, buddy, _menino(2), _I didn't mean that I don't want you, I just meant that it's not safe to be with me. Do you understand?" He thought he could hear the other man muttering something about alcohol, but decided to ignore him. If he couldn't take a few verbal barbs, then how would he ever stay in control?

"Do you want to live with me? Would you rather live with me, even though it isn't safe, than him?" With those words he nodded his head towards the heavy man, stilling grumbling.

"Yes, yes! I would love to live with you. Do you live here? At the top?" Harry moved his head with such fervor that Bruce was afraid that he would faint, so he grabbed it, stopping the boy's movement and answered with a smile.

"Alright, I guess you will then." With these words, he stood and stared at the man who had brought this poor child. Bruce couldn't understand why a child would be so anxious to live with someone dangerous, unless… Unless he already lived with someone dangerous. With these thoughts stewing in his mind, the watch on his wrist started to beep. He took a few moments, counted to ten, in three different languages, and began to speak to the uncle.

"I will take him in, and you will never see him again." You will never acknowledge him, and if you ever see him on the street, you will not greet him, do you understand?"

"Good riddance." With those words, Vernon Dursley tossed the backpack to Bruce, and walked off, back to the van that would take him away from him. Bruce just gaped. 'How could any human being be so cruel to such a little child? Even General Ross wouldn't think of it.' With those thoughts, he turned to Harry and motioned for him to come inside.

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(2) little child/little boy (Portuguese) I'm using this as a sort of pet name, if you will.

Hope you enjoyed! R&R, C&C whatever. :)


	2. Chapter 2

_Italics: Hispanic Languages/other sharp speaking/shock/all that_

**_Bold Italics: Other languages_**

Normal: Normal speaking

Underlines: Type/book lines

"":Normal speaking

'':Thoughts

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The Child of a Monster

Chapter 2

As they walked into the small home, a mangy looking dog ran up and jumped on Harry.

"Doggie!" The diminutive boy shouted. Bruce was startled to observe the look of terror on his face. Something had obviously happened to him to make the child so afraid.

"Pup, down. Come on, get down," Bruce pulled at the dog's fur to get him off the kid. The dog resisted, noticeably excited at the thought of a new person, this one just a pup. All dogs know that pups drop the best food. Finally, Bruce was able to yank the dog off the boy.

"_Menino, _are you alright?" The child nodded his head warily. Bruce could see him continue to stare at the dog, afraid to let him come near again. Then he opened his mouth.

"What do that mean? Menino?" The boy furrowed his brows in confusion.

"Ah, haha," Bruce's mouth turned upwards into a grin. "_Menino,_ it means little one, or boy child. It's kind of a nickname, I guess."

"Oh, okay. What's a ni'name?" Bruce had to chuckle at his minute lisp.

"Hmm, a nickname is sort of, a name that someone uses instead of their actual name. Sometimes, people give their friends nicknames, to tease them, or to make their names easier to pronounce." Then, the boy asked a question that Bruce _definitely _wasn't expecting.

"What's my name?" So great was his surprise at the query, that Bruce let out a rather loud gasp.

"You don't know your name? What did your family call you?" The boy just shrugged.

"Jus' Boy or Fweak. Sometimes Mrs. Figg would call me Hawwy, but I don' like tha', I'm not haiwy, her cats awe haiwy though." As though he had just made a very profound statement, the boy gave a great nod with his head. Bruce nodded in acknowledgement.

"Alright, well, let's look inside this bag your uncle left, made what's inside will tell us something," he pulled out a stack of papers. "Hmm… Doctor's papers, aha, birth records. That's odd. They've marked your name out, as if they didn't want anyone to know it. Well, I guess we'd better name you then. How about… Albert?" The kid shook his head vigorously. "Okay… Edward? No? Alright, Chris, Peter, Nathan, Jacob?" He continued to shake his head. "None of those? What about, Mark?" Finally the boy smiled.

"Yeah, I like tha'."

Well then, Mark. Welcome to my, and now your, home. Don't get to cozy though, we'll have to leave eventually." Bruce sighed, knowing that he would have to explain his "condition" sooner or later, and one look at his new son's face told him that it would be sooner, like, now.

"Why?" Ahh, the continuous whys of childhood. Now, how to answer.

"Let's sit down." He led Mark to the nearby chair, and subsequently realized he only had one. Therefore, he plopped to the floor. "Mark, I'm sick, and because I'm sick, that makes me dangerous, do you see?" Mark shook his head in a negative response. This was going to be harder than he though. "Okay, see, I'm a doctor," Apparently, that was a bad choice of words, as Mark shied away. "Not that kind of doctor, Mark. I study genetics, along with physics, that means I study, and teach, how the world works, and how we work. Does that make sense?" Finally, he got a positive response. Mark nodded his head and scooted forward a little, not so fearful. "So, when I was studying, I was trying to figure out a way to make people stronger, and I thought that I had found it, so I tried it on myself. But it didn't work. Instead, it made me sick, there's something inside of me that makes me dangerous, do you understand, Mark?" He nodded his head again. "Do you know what else," I asked.

"What?" His curious voice peeped out.

"Sometimes, it makes me green, really green and really big, so if you ever see me turn really green and big, I need you to do something for me, _menino, _I need you to run away, as far and as fast as you can. Got that?"

"Yeah, if you eva tuwn reawy big an' green I gotta run away. Why?" Oh, the curiosity of three year olds, always asking why. Bruce loved it. He always loved it when people asked why, and were actually interested in hearing the answers.

"Because, buddy, when I turn big and green, I don't always recognize people. Do you know what that means, recognize?" He shook his head no, I was going to have to get him to stop that, it was probably making him dizzy at this point. "It means that I might not always know who people are. Sometimes I do remember, and then I would recognize you, but sometimes I don't okay? So if I ever turn big and green, I need you to run away fast and hide somewhere secret. In fact, we can make it a game. Do you like games, Mark?" For a while he just sat there, almost like he was deciding what he should say, eventually he opened his mouth.

"I've never played a game." Bruce just stared, how could have never played a game? Don't all children play games? Maybe not all the same ones, but games none the less. Where had he been, a cupboard? 'Okay Bruce, he's feeling awkward, say something'

"Do you know what different games are? Can you name a few?" Well, at least he got a positive answer this time.

"Dudley likes to play games. He plays on his bikes, and videogames, and sometimes he'll play hide and seek."

"Yes, like hide and seek. Good example, Mark!" He seemed to smile at the compliment; Bruce would have to give him a few more. "It'll be like hide and seek, whenever I turn big and green, you have to hide and wait for normal me to seek you, okay?"

"Okay, that sounds fun." Yeah, loads, hopefully it won't happen for a while.

Bruce and Mark ended up just sitting there for a while, talking about different things. Bruce wanted to know everything about this son that he apparently had, and had been given. He learned so many things that night, that Mark's favourite colour was green, Bruce had laughed at that. What his favourite food was and what he wanted to do in his life. Bruce discovered how intelligent Mark was, even at such a young age. He sucked knowledge up like a vacuum, which could be seen even through the few hours they spent together before night came. They talked through dinner, Mark had appeared surprised that he didn't have to cook, and that he was allowed to eat at the table, and through the night until Bruce finally realized what time it was. It had been Mark's yawns that pointed it out.

"Alright buddy, it looks like it's about time for lights out. You ready for bed" Mark shook his head, but the response was ruined by the yawn in the middle of it, even bigger than the first. Bruce laughed.

"Come on, lets find you a place to sleep, tomorrow will be a new day." After peering through his three room apartment, Bruce realized that he did not, in fact, have a place for Mark to sleep, and decided to simply plop him down in Bruce's own bed. He could sleep in the chair tonight.

"Good night, _menino, _I will see you in the morning." The next words to come tumbling out of the child's mouth startled him immensely, though they also pleased him.

"Good nigh', daddy." Bruce grinned widely as he shut off the light.

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**OMG! Thank you guys soooo much for all of the fantastic reviews! They were all so amazing! Thanks also for all of the follows and favourites, they were all so unexpected! It's awesome! Keep R&Ring and C&Cing! :D**


	3. Chapter 3

_Italics:__ Hispanic Languages/ strongly spoken words_

**_Bold Italics: All other Languages_**

Underlined: Book type/tech type  


"": Normal speaking

'': thoughts

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The Child of a Monster

Chapter 3

Bruce woke up the next morning to a smoky room and the smell of burning meat. He scrambled off the couch and ran to the bedroom. It was empty, and the bed was made. Bruce strode quickly through the rest of the small apartment, checking the bathroom and the front room area, finally, he reached the kitchen, by which time you could barely see or breathe through all of the smoke. There was Mark, standing at the tiny rickety stove trying to cook breakfast. Bruce couldn't help but stare for a few seconds at the tiny boy. He had dragged the kitchen chair over to the stove so that he could reach the top, and it looked like he'd emptied the cabinets looking for food to cook. Quickly, he shook his and to shoo away the distracting thoughts and stepped behind the child.

"What are you doing?" He questioned. Apparently, Mark hadn't heard him come up because he jumped and dropped the metal spoon he was using to stir the food. After he had bent down and picked the spoon up off the ground, he realized that the small boy was shaking.

"Are you not feeling well, did you hurt yourself?" The boy was stiff, but still shaking. Bruce was bewildered, 'what could have caused such a reaction in him?' he thought. "Mark, why did you try to cook breakfast? Don't you know that's the adult's job? It's dangerous, you could've gotten hurt." At these words, Mark suddenly burst into tears. Bruce reached towards him to pick him up, but the child jerked back, as if burned by his touch. Bruce froze, staring at the child, wondering, 'what could be making him act this way?' Mark seemed to still as well, contemplating the older man through teary red eyes. Finally, he reached out with red, peeling, burned hands. Bruce gasped, aghast at the pain his child must be feeling. He picked Mark up and walked to the small bathroom. He sat the three year old on the toilet seat and began to rummage through the cabinet, looking for some sort of medicine to help his hands. He finally found a half empty tube of Neosporin® and some bandages. When he turned back to Mark, he was startled by the expression the kid was wearing. With the furrowed brows and down turned mouth, it almost looked like he hadn't expected to have help. He pushed the thought to the back of his mind to bring up later.

"Okay Mark, this is going to sting a little bit, but I want you to remember that I am not doing this to hurt you, I want you to get better, so that you hurt less. Are you ready?" He got a confused and whispered answer.

"Yes?" It was almost formed like a question.

"Alright," Bruce kneeled down and showed Mark what was in his hands. "I'm going to put this cream on first, it will probably feel cold and sting a little, after I put that on, I will wrap your hands in these bandages. Is that okay?" He received a nod in return. Bruce took that as an affirmative and took the first tiny hand in his. He was shocked at how hot the hand was, how could the child withstand so much pain in silence? He opened the tube and began to squirt the cream on the miniscule palm, when suddenly, the hand was jerked back. When Bruce looked up into Mark's face, he was not prepared for the look of immense pain that lay upon it. It seemed that the child had been in more pain than he had shown. Bruce gently pulled the hand back and rubbed the cream in. After he finished, he wrapped it in the bandages and went to the left hand. It seemed that his son was left handed, for the burns on this hand were much less than on the other, as if he had been using his right hand to hold on to the pan and this one to stir.

After he completed the task of getting Mark cleaned up and airing out the kitchen, he carried the boy to living room and sat him down on the couch. He knew that he had to talk to the child about several things, including, apparently, the fact of why Mark had thought it okay to try to cook breakfast, while Bruce was still asleep nonetheless! They also needed to discuss what they were going to do from here on out, and he had to figure out how those _filthy _creatures, the Dursleys, had found him, and how to stop it happening again. They also needed to look through the bag some more, to see what else had been given to him besides the papers. He had seen what appeared to be a few notebooks in there, maybe he'd start there. As he got lost in his mind, Bruce did not notice how terrified Mark was getting, how stiff he was, even though he was still shaking. The small child had many thoughts running through his head at the same time, very similar, yet completely opposite in composition to his new found father's.

'What if he don't like me? What if he don't want me? I don't wanna go back to Aunt 'tunia and Unca' Vern's! He gave me a name, I am Mark, I like to talk to him, he is smart, he didn't hit me, even when I messed up breakfast.' Without realizing it, Mark had begun to hyperventilate, and Bruce jumped up to help him.

"Mark, MARK! Hey, _menino_, buddy, are you alright? Can you breathe?" As he thought about this, Bruce realized that his own breathing was getting rough, and that his heart monitor had started to beep. "Mark, we need to breathe, okay. Can you do it with me?" At the small nod, Bruce gave a little small. "Good, okay, so we're going to breathe in. Can you take a deep breathe in? Very good, okay Mark, you can let it out slowly now, through your mouth. Good job, _menino_! Now keep doing that, okay?" Finally, both of their breathing began to slow down, and Bruce relaxed as the imminent danger passed. Bruce recognized the fact that he was going to have to talk to Mark about these scares he kept having and sighed, thinking about everything that he had to discuss. They talked about many easy and fun things yesterday, and he realized that the child was very intelligent, though he did have a strong lisp. That was going to have to go, it made it very difficult to understand the boy, and he was much too smart to not be understood. Bruce also acknowledged the fact that he had to teach Mark Portuguese, Spanish, and the other languages relative to their location; at least it was decently simple to teach youngsters. Eventually, Bruce opened his mouth to speak.

"You know, we'll have to work out these, uh, little fits of yours. Maybe you can start coming to my classes with me." He said it in a teasing manner, but he hadn't noticed how stiff Mark had been until he relaxed, however, what he didn't know was that it wasn't how he said the words, but what he said that made the child calm down. Mark had been very worried that Bruce would take him back, that he did want him anymore, and Bruce's words showed him that he did, in fact, have no plans regarding the return of his son to those miserable beings.  
"I woul' like that," Mark voiced quietly. Bruce laughed, running his hand through his hair.

"Okay, buddy, we can probably work something out. However, there are some other things we still need to talk about." At Mark's tenuous nod, the older man continued on. "Well, for one thing, I want to know what you thought you were doing in the kitchen."

"I was makin' breakfa't, like I suppose to." The poor boy said this matter-of-factly, as if it should have been obvious.

"No, no, no. You are _never _supposed to make breakfast, or any other meal of the day. In fact, I would rather you not be in the kitchen at all unless I am there as well. Do you understand? Three year olds should not be cooking for adults, no child should." Mark seemed to let this sink in for a while before he asked,

"Why?" Bruce was, for once, saddened by the innocent curiosity in his eyes. This tiny boy truly did not understand why he should not be cooking for full grown adults.

"Because, _menino, _cooking is a big person job. It's dangerous, so adults should be the ones doing it, because when you become an adult, you learn what's safe to do, and what's not. What you were doing was not safe, at all. You could have easily burned our home down, and because of the way the city is built, you could have done even worse than that. As it is, you got very hurt on your hands didn't you? As a matter of fact, I'm surprised that you didn't get hurt elsewhere too." At these words, Mark blushed, and pulled at his sleeves. Bruce sighed. He realized that he'd been doing that a lot lately. "Mark, did you get hurt anywhere else, and not tell me?" Mark nodded with a sad look on his face.

"I sowwy! I not lie 'ny mowe. Pwease don' send me away. I don wanna go back to Aunt 'Tunia!" Bruce gaped at him. He didn't understand why Mark thought that he would send him back like a broken toy.

"Mark, I'm not mad at you! It's okay, just please don't lie to me anymore, especially about you getting hurt. Okay? Can you show me where you got hurt now?" With this, Mark pulled up his sleeves to display burns of all shapes and sizes going up and down his arms. Bruce gasped. 'What had to be done to such a little child that he would hide such pain?' Bruce figured that he'd be asking that quite a lot in the next few weeks. He was glad that he had carried the medicine and bandages out with him, so that he wouldn't have to go back into the bathroom. Bruce rolled Mark's sleeves up completely so that he could view his arms, as well as put the Neosporin® cream on them. Then he wrapped more bandages around the wounds. After he finished, Bruce noticed he was out of both products and would have to go to the local _farmácia(1)_ and stock up.

"Alright, buddy. It looks like we're going to have to set up some ground rules, do you understand?"

"Yes, bu' I alweady has lo's of ruwls."

"Well, _menino(2), _I need you to forget all of those rules, okay? I'm going to give you all new ones. You won't need your Aunt and Uncle's rules anymore. The first one is _very _important. _Never _hide anything that hurts away from me, got it? If you fall and get a scrape, tell me. If you accidentally touch some fire, tell me. If you _ever _get hurt, you _must _tell me. How am I supposed to make it better if I don't know about it? Do you understand?"

"Yes sir, I un'a'stan'." Good, at least he grasped the gravity of the situation. Bruce was very glad he seemed to understand concepts presented to him easily.

"Okay, here's the next one. Never use the kitchen. That's it. In fact, I don't even want you in that area unless I am there with you, okay?" Mark nodded. "There is only one more, for now. Never go anywhere alone. I know that this place you live now is very cool, and it seems like there are a lot of very nice people, but not everyone is nice here, okay? There are some people that could hurt you, and I won't always be there to protect you, so never go anywhere without me." Mark nodded again and smiled, these seemed like very easy rules to him. Aunt 'Tunia and Unca' Vern' always had lots of rules, even some that seemed to contradict each other.

"Wonderful. Now, do you want to finish going through this bag your uncle left us? If we get it done quickly, we might be able to go out and find some food for dinner, would you like that?"

"Yes pwease. Tha' soun's good." Mark seemed much happier now.

"Hmmm. Maybe when we go out we can get you some new clothes as well. Can't have you walking around in those rags." Mark's smile continued to get larger, and he didn't know how to respond, Bruce was being kind beyond comparison. Bruce took the grin as an affirmative answer and pulled the bag out from under the couch where he'd stashed it the night before. The first thing he pulled out of the bag was a notebook that appeared to be some sort of Journal. In fact, it almost looked like the one Lily had owned while they were in college together. He opened it to the last entry, which had some sort of map with a pulsing red dot sitting in Brazil on the opposite page.

Dear Journal, I think this is going to be the last entry of my college journal, as I am going back to England, and the Wizarding world, to marry James. If I had known what has going to happen before he'd asked, I would have said no. Journal, I'm an engaged woman! I should not have done it, I shouldn't have slept with Bruce. But, I love him, in a way that I don't James. Don't get me wrong, I love being with James, he is smart, and polite (mostly), and he can be funny, but Bruce is so much more. These four years in college, I've learned so much, both in my areas of study, and in myself. Why did I say yes, those eight years ago, has he even waited, over there in England? I know he had his share of flings in school. What am I thinking, Journal, have I become so paranoid that I would accuse James of cheating? It seems a bit hypocritical, especially with what's happened now.

Oh Journal, I'm pregnant. I won't tell Bruce, he knows I'm getting married, I told him after it happened. I should tell James that the baby won't be his, but I don't think I will. I know a few charms that will hide any non-Potter features. With this war going on though, I'll leave a safe guard. If James and I are killed, and my child is left behind, and he finds his way to Bruce, then Bruce will be able to remove the charms. All he will have to do, is press on the pulsing red dot that I will place on the next page. The dot will work two purposes, to find Bruce on the map, and to remove the glamour charms. Bruce, if you ever read this, know that I did love you. It wasn't just some college fling, and if I had not been set to marry James, then the answer would have been yes.

With those words read, Bruce slammed the journal shut, startling Mark. Now he knew how those idiot creatures had discovered his hiding place, and he knew that he would have to destroy it, so that no one with nefarious purposes could get a hold of it. But first, he opened it back up and pressed on the red dot.

Slowly, before his eyes, Mark began to change. Messy black hair changed to a shorter, lighter hue, which was much neater. He watched as knobby knees softened and turned straight, and several of his features changed and became a mesh of his and Lily's. Mark still had Lily's eyes, which he was grateful for, but his nose and forehead got a bit wider and his chin a little more narrow. Before, no one could have told that this was his son, know though, no one would ever be able to deny it. Thankfully, Mark had fallen asleep during the process, because it seemed like it would have hurt a lot otherwise.

Bruce walked over to the stove, lit the fire inside, gave the book one last kiss, and with a final glance, he tossed it into the fire, to be destroyed forever.

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**Holy Shinolly, guys. (Yes I made that word up) I cannot BELIEVE the response I've received for this story! It's confounding to me. :D Thank you all so much for all the reviews, favourites, and follows. It's really awesome. :D Anyway, from now on, I am going to answer any questions from anonymous reviewers here. K?**

**Nimin: So... Harry(now Mark), literally spoke two sentences in the first chapter, and one of those sentences was one word. He said like eight words in the entire chapter. Also, nothing he said was where his lisp was. Trust me, if you are irritated with his speaking in the second chapter and this chapter, just image how I am feeling. I have to write that. It's ridiculously difficult and it won't last much longer. Probably about one more chapter. **

**So, this chapter was very long. I impressed myself, and I hope I impressed you guys too. XD Hope you enjoyed it. **

**Remember to Read and Review, as well as Comment and Critique! :D**

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Oh! For the Portuguese words. There will be a lot more in the next chapter.

_farmácia(1) - the pharmacy. :D  
_

_menino(2) - __little child/ little boy_ I am using this one as a sort of pet name. :D


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